


The Other Sociopaths

by 5BloodyRoses



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 01:26:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8036833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5BloodyRoses/pseuds/5BloodyRoses
Summary: Sherlock Holmes isn't the only consulting detective and high functioning sociopath, but what will he do when he is introduced to Arianna, a young genius and sociopath? What will Sherlock do when Moriarty reveals himself and her dark past? Which side is she on, the angel's or devil's?





	1. Miss Arianna Daratrazanoff  Knight

“Sorry, no chance of being a hero this time, Mr.Holmes”

Sherlock looked blindly in front of him, desperately trying to find a way to save Mary, and essentially John, whilst stopping Magnussen.

“Sherlock Holmes and John Watson stand away from that man. Do it now.” As the helicopter blared and the specially trained police force began to surround them, Magnussen looked away from Sherlock and John, who was wearing a look of shock, despair and hidden fury at the threats against Mary; Magnussen on the other hand moved his head in a sweeping arc, looking on at the helicopters and troops that had promptly arrived. Everything had gone according to plan and he was feeling exceptionally smug, he had control over the entire nation. What he didn’t notice, was the look of resignation and determination that flitted across Sherlock’s face. Sherlock quickly stepped forward, pulling the British Army Browning L9A1 from the back of John’s jeans before stepping up to Magnussen.

“Oh, do your research! I’m not a hero; I’m a high functioning sociopath. Merry Christmas!” Sherlock shouted over the sound of helicopter blades spinning, raising his arm high and aiming, before shooting Magnussen in the head. Magnussen, who had looked towards Sherlock with a look of amusement at Sherlock’s exclamation fell back wards as the bullet entered his head. Sherlock in turn dropped the gun as the spotlight was now almost trained solely on him as he raised his arms to his head.

“Get away from me John. Stay well back.”  Sherlock commanded as he twisted his upper torso slightly looking imploringly at John, gauging his reaction.

“Christ Sherlock!” John cried in shock at the actions of his best friend, mimicking him as he too, raised his arms above his head, looking, almost disbelieving at the scene in front of him: Sherlock had killed someone. For a moment, he thought back to the first time he met Sally Donovan, in “A Study In Pink”, remembering her words: “One day, showing up won’t be enough. One day we’ll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one that put it there.” She was right, Sherlock did kill Magnussen , but what other choice did he have?

“Don’t fire! Do not fire on Sherlock Holmes!” Mycroft commanded desperately, tears in his eyes as he tried to save his brother from being shot.

Sherlock stared at John for a moment; trying to tell him without words how sorry he was before he spoke, just loud enough for John to hear him: “Tell her she’s safe now.” Before turning back to the helicopters, to Mycroft and knelt at the top of the stairs that led to Appledore and let his mask fall. Despair and sadness were etched into his features as he let the true extent of his actions flit across his mind’s eye. He ignored everything, the Police Officers in riot gear standing in front of him, the red dot of the lasers trained upon his chest and neck, as he looked down, resigned to his fate.

“Oh Sherlock...What have you done?” Mycroft murmured, as he removed the headset gazing at his younger brother with sadness and concern, tears in his eyes, as he allowed his emotional façade to slip for the briefest moment. In that instant, Mycroft didn’t see Sherlock as an adult, no, he saw him as a child, a defenceless 9 year old boy in his school uniform, tears rolling down his soft, pale cheeks, his chestnut hair flying around by the wind generated by the helicopter blades, his blue green eyes wide as he stared at the menacing sight in front of him as he tried to swallow his whimpers of fear.

(Skip to Sherlock being exiled, then being called back after only 4 seconds of flying. In Mycroft’s office)

Mycroft stared in disbelief at the ballistic reports in front him. The bullet found in Charles August Magnussen was not the bullet of a British Army Browning L9A1 hand gun, but was a bullet from a sniper rifle, a bullet from a Chey Tac M-200 Carbine, made in the US. Sherlock was innocent. With this new information in mind, Mycroft began mentally dismissing and questioning _who_ had been the one to end Magnussen’s life. Not only that, but had done so with such precision that it did look as though Sherlock had fired the bullet into Magnussen’s head. Only one name came to mind, and Mycroft looked up to see the young women sat across from him, the shadows from the dimmed light, obscuring her face from view. Mycroft looked a little startled for a moment; he questioned whether or not he had been so deep in his musings as to ignore her presence. Mycroft stared at the woman in front of him, and as her look of impassive disinterest morph into a smirk filled with mischief, it was only then did Mycroft realise just _who_ had been the one to kill Magnussen. ‘Of course,’ though Mycroft, as he scoffed at his own idiocy for being so blinded that he couldn’t see how _she_ had done it. She was, after all, the only person he knew of that could pull off such a plan whilst fooling himself _and_ Sherlock Holmes.

The two stared at one another, Mycroft’s blue eyes looking deeply into her deep green ones; a tense silence had enveloped the two adults as neither of them was willing to speak until the other did, and whilst Mycroft remained impassive, on the outside, the woman looked on with eyes full of amusement. It was Mycroft who broke the silence, one of them had to act like an adult and she wasn’t going to be the one to do so.

“Magnussen.” Mycroft spoke clearly and used the one word statement as though it held all the answers to what he really wanted to ask her.

“Hmmm, yes Magnussen, such a shame he had to be dealt with in such a way. He had so much potential, it’s such a shame he became blinded by his own arrogance.” She spoke softly and easily, as though they were having a cordial conversation about the weather over afternoon tea.  At the word “potential” Mycroft’s eyes hardened, his eyes narrowing as his cold mask slipped into one he used when dealing with traitors to the nation and terrorists. Seeing Mycroft’s hardened gaze, she elaborated, dismissing his anger as she answered his unasked question; “Yes, potential…..had he not been so blinded by his belief in his own intelligence and power, he would have been a useful ally. It’s such a shame he couldn’t see that in this world of predators, sharks and _goldfish,_ one day someone will be smarter and will take over his empire of blackmail and secrets. Even if he did acknowledge it, I don’t think he expected someone to take over so soon, do you?” The question posed had been spoken so innocently and softly, a part of Mycroft couldn’t believe that she had killed Magnussen. However Mycroft couldn’t help but admire the elegance of her plan, well, what he believed her plan to be.

“Excellent shot. I have to say, your aim has improved since the last time you needed to…….dispose of someone.”

“Thank you Mycroft, although your praise and thanks isn’t necessary. Magnussen isn’t dead.” Her soft voice had a hardened edge to it, but it also held something else, whatever it was Mycroft was uncertain as his steely gaze rested on the petite woman sat across from him, as though his gaze alone could draw out the secrets she had been keeping from him. She sighed at his icy disposition as she turned and uttered a soft “Come in” her voice turning into a gentle coo, the kind that one would use on a baby or a pet. The large mahogany  doors opened for a moment and a figure stepped into the room, it was someone who, only a day ago had been declared dead………..Magnussen.  When Mycroft’s eyes moved to Magnussen’s the first reaction, though muted and unnoticeable to one other person in the room was shock, which morphed into disbelief, as Magnussen _had_ been shot in the head, which in turn changed to a feeling betrayal, that the tiny slip of a woman had lied to him, he had assumed that she shot him in the head, it was a kill shot that was done right under Sherlock’s nose, _literally_ , but he had believed that she had been speaking the truth. She had not spoken outright and said that she had shot Magnussen, but her presence alone had been enough for Mycroft to believe, no, for him to _know_ that she had killed Magnussen. There was nothing, absolutely _nothing_ she could gain by deceiving him.

“Now, there’s no need for you to give me that look, Mycroft, I haven’t lied to you, nor have I claimed to have killed him.” She spoke with authority, using the tone a mother would when admonishing her child after they have misbehaved. She then turned slightly in her seat; “Magnussen you don’t have to stand, I would say to sit down, but I don’t think Mr.Holmes would appreciate you sitting so close to him.”

Magnussen looked upon the young woman with a gaze filled with pure unadulterated terror, which Mycroft had never seen in another person’s eyes, let alone Magnussen, who was known for his predatory gaze of that of a shark’s, emotionless and dead eyed.  Mycroft was surprised by Magnussen’s reaction to the green eyed woman, who’s petite and delicate frame seemed to exude innocence, and in the large high backed chair she sat in, she seemed frail.

“How” Mycroft’s deep voice seemed to reverberate around his office, cutting the tension filled air, like a knife.

“Have you heard of flash cloning?” Came the reply, as she cocked her head to the side her hair, the colour of a raven’s wing slid off her shoulder, framing her pale face. At this question Mycroft’s eyebrows knitted closer together as he looked quickly at the fearful and quiet Magnussen who seemed to be attempting to press himself into the wall and either blend into the background or become the background. Seeing Mycroft’s slight confusion she began to elaborate, seeming to forget about the man who was subconsciously cowering in fear by just standing behind her. “It’s a new form of cloning, highly classified and very dangerous. It’s similar to the way Dolly the Sheep was cloned, only it’s a little…..different and far more advanced. Flash cloning is meant to be for separate organs such as the brain or the heart. It’s very difficult for a person to be able to clone a fully functioning human with the same information in their mind and the same thought processes, however I succeeded. I wouldn’t really be surprised that you don’t know Mycroft; after all cloning of such a degree is illegal and something that shouldn’t be possible for a couple decades. The Magnussen that I shot was the clone I created. He wasn’t willing, of course to be cloned, but, he was too much of a threat for me to ignore.”

With her confession, Mycroft’s brain went into to overdrive as he connected the dots. Magnussen had been shot; he had died, technically speaking. But the real Magnussen, the one who had been born and not created in a test tube had been, in a sense, had been held hostage while the clone continued with the original Magnussen’s plans. Mycroft couldn’t help but admire the way she worked with such finesse. Magnussen, was dead, so to speak, and now had nowhere to run, he was completely at his mercy.

“Consider it a gift, for all the trouble I put you and your brother through. Oh, and for what it’s worth, Sherlock was never going to go on the mission in east Europe.” She spoke, at first apologetically, looking at Mycroft with a gaze asking for his forgiveness, before she became much more serious her tone turning almost business like as she continued to ignore Magnussen. At her second admission, Mycroft’s eyebrow rose questioningly, prompting her to continue; “I convinced MI6 to assign another poor unfortunate soul to go on that mission. They are considered a traitor and to have committed treason, they gave away certain bits of information to some very high bidders. Don’t worry, I have taken care of both ends to ensure that no further information was leaked, I also took care of the paperwork.” The response from Mycroft was a simple smirk, and a look of appreciation, ‘now if only our lot were all just as good as her’, Mycroft thought idly s she continued to speak. “Magnussen is at your disposal now. He is powerless and I’m sure you will be able to think of a……..deserving fate for him.” Magnussen inhaled loudly as his look of fear turned into sheer terror at just what Mycroft could do, now that he held now that he had no leverage over Sherlock, and in turn Mycroft.

“Thank you, my dear; you have saved me a lot of work. If only our lot were as good as you…..” As he trailed off, Mycroft shook his head slightly, before looking at Magnussen. “I’m sure I can find something…..that will be befitting of your crimes, after all there is nowhere for you to run now Mr. Magnussen.” His tone was light, and seemed polite but held a more sinister meaning behind his words that made Magnussen shiver.

Mycroft then sent a message to have Magnussen to be taken to a quiet location to be dealt with. As he was being taken care of, Mycroft looked at the seemingly delicate creature in front of him and saw her in a new light, he had known that she was unpredictable at the best of times, and couldn’t be happier knowing that she was on his side and was not allies with Moriarty. Mycroft grimaced at the thought and inclined head towards her in thanks.  The comfortable silence ended when a phone chirped, signalling an incoming message. The unnamed woman looked towards her phone before looking apologetically towards Mycroft before rising. No words were needed; the two of them understood what they wanted to say by reading one another’s micro expressions. She then rose gracefully, softly bade Mycroft a good evening, saying she would text him, before silently leaving the room, the door making a soft thudding sound as it closed. A few moments later, Anthea walked into the room looking at her phone, waiting for Mycroft to give his orders. Mycroft looked down towards the ballistic report before speaking clearly, with enough authority to cause Anthea to stand at attention at his words:

“I want the highest security and clearance to be active, immediately.”

Anthea looked at her employer, confusion evident in her gaze. “For who?”

“Miss Arianna Daratrazanoff Knight, of course.”

 

* * *

 


	2. Meeting Thomas

It had been 6 months since the “ _death”_ of Charles Augustus Magnussen, since then there had been no further broadcasts from Moriarty, which left Sherlock on edge, causing life for John, when he was around Sherlock to be even more difficult. Mary gave birth to baby girl on the 5 th January whom was named Catherine Mary Watson with Sherlock as the Godfather of the small blond haired, light blue eyed gurgling bundle of joy. Or as Sherlock put it: “a miniature human which held qualities similar to parasitic creatures”. Despite this description from Sherlock, John was presently surprised how well Sherlock was able to handle Catherine and was used as babysitter on a regular basis.

~Time skip~

John ran up the stairs to 221B shouting Sherlock’s name with Mary in tow carrying a sleeping six month old toddler in her arms. They stopped at the open front door and quickly entered the flat fearing the worst; they stood in the living room looking around the room and checking in the kitchen before they saw Sherlock standing with John’s British Army Browning L9A1 in his hand facing the toilet.

“Christ, Sherlock! What the hell do you think you’re do-”John’s exclamation of shock was cut short when he stepped closer to Sherlock to see a man sitting on the toilet. John’s eyes widened in shock as he took in the scene before him: Sherlock with a gun in his hand, aiming the said gun at an unknown man who was sitting on the toilet with his trousers around his ankles. At this realisation John reached forward to grab Sherlock and proceeded to drag him out of the bathroom, whilst the stranger on the toilet seemed unfazed by these events and raised a dark eyebrow at John’s actions, before giving a friendly smile and waving at John in a silent hello.

Whilst John had been searching for Sherlock, Mary had been attending to the child in her arms, checking to see if the little girl was still asleep despite John’s shouts of shock at Sherlock’s actions. Seeing that the child was still asleep and hadn’t even stirred, Mary walked towards John, asking him what all the commotion was about, partly to stop both men from acting like drama queens and partly to prevent them from waking the sleeping toddler. Hearing Mary move closer, John dragged Sherlock away from the toilet and closed the door mumbling a quick apology to the mystery man; pushing Sherlock towards the living room with Mary moving back towards the sofa watching John push the taller man into his chair with amusement.

Sherlock allowed this to take place with confusion over John’s overreaction, and opened his mouth ready to voice his displeasure at John’s actions, especially when John reclaimed his gun, which John had no idea when Sherlock had taken from him. John began to rant at Sherlock, the only way he knew how to hide his embarrassment and to try and understand _why_ and _what_  possessed Sherlock to aim a gun at a man whilst they were on they were in the bathroom and to find out who the man in question was. However just as John was going to start his lengthy and extremely loud and mostly one – sided, on John’s part, shouting match which Sherlock would reply in a much more civilised manner, Mary cleared her throat loudly, causing both men to face her; John stood across from Sherlock, momentarily looming over the consulting detective who was shifting to a more comfortable position in his chair, giving them a stern look before glancing towards the sleeping little girl. Both men understood the silent message her look had held: _Wake her up and I’ll shoot you both._

Due to this silent threat, John took a calming breath before deciding to whisper loudly and angrily at Sherlock; “What the hell is the matter with you?! You haven’t talked to any of us for three weeks, _three weeks,_ Sherlock! Hell even Greg knew more about what you’ve been doing! And now we find you pointing a gun at a complete stranger-if you needed help you could have just texted us!”

Sherlock blinked in response to John’s anger, understanding why John and Mary were concerned by his actions, but was still confused by John’s embarrassment over the situation. “John, while I understand your concern, there was no need for you to be embarrassed by my actions-”

“Embarrassed? Embarrassed?! He was on the _toilet,_ Sherlock! Who the hell is he?” John was close to shouting at this point, his face flushed with anger and exasperation at his best friend’s antics. Just as he finished speaking, the flushing of a toilet was heard and the mystery man walked slowly walked towards them seemingly unfazed by being held at gunpoint on the toilet. Mary and John noticed the way he seemed to scan over them both taking in every detail before glancing at the sleeping child before looking at Sherlock. There was a moment of silence before Sherlock spoke; “John, Mary I’d like you to meet Thomas, an old acquaintance.”

John eyed this apparent “old acquaintance” of Sherlock’s and employed some of what he learnt from Sherlock to learn more about Thomas, who Sherlock had never mentioned. ‘He’s taller than me, but he’s slightly shorter than Sherlock, 5 ft 10, possible. Eurasian. He stands similarly to Sherlock, so maybe he’s from the same or similar background to Sherlock’s, so he’s from a upper class background. Possibly nobility? Hell he even dresses similar to Sherlock, black fitted blazer, white shirt, black trousers, all tailored to fit his body and dark blue converse? There’s too much unknown information.’  Thomas was, like Sherlock rather tall, standing at  5 ft 11 inches and like Sherlock was rather thin, but was more muscular than Sherlock. He had sharp aristocratic features, which were well proportioned.  His tan skin and brown slanted eyes along with his jet black hair that was gelled back to his head, showed his mixed heritage. 

Thomas waited as John made his deductions, as he made his own his eyes taking in every detail about John, before moving to Mary, his eyes narrowing slightly at her before giving the still sleeping Catherine a cursory glance before noticing that John was finished before smiling brightly at the Watsons and offering them a large smile and a friendly hello with a voice that was a deeper baritone than what they had originally expected. However, despite the friendly greeting, an awkward silence fell over the four adults as John, who had calmed down enough to sit down next to Mary, their daughter nestled between the two, and Mary both sat expectantly waiting for Sherlock’s acquaintance to say something other than “Hello”. Sherlock was sat in his prayer position, his hands steeple under his chin as he watched the Watson’s reaction to Thomas. The air of awkwardness that had fallen ended abruptly as Mrs Hudson tottered into the flat carrying a tray of tea and biscuits and promptly began to (quietly) fuss over the sleeping child, the Watsons and Sherlock before noticing Thomas.

“Hello dear, Sherlock, you didn’t tell me you have a guest! Is this for a case?” This was all said in a quick but motherly fashion as Mrs.Hudson, until Thomas responded to her questions with a charming smile and a friendly hello.

“Hello, my name is Thomas, no, I’m not a client. I’m just visiting Sherlock, we met at Uni.” At this response, John’s eyes widened slightly at the news before his head turned to Sherlock, waiting for his reaction. John remembered Sherlock’s reaction to Sebastian three years ago, but found none of the pain in his expression that Sebastian caused with his cruel words. Instead the corners of Sherlock’s lips were upturned in a slight smile. Sherlock’s reaction to this was in fact a fast forward of rather fond memories, well, fond in the sense that they both played deductions while taking drugs until they were as a high as a kite. In reflection, Sherlock knew that it was actually a dark time of his life. Both Mary and Mrs.Hudson were surprised and in way, relieved by this confession as they had assumed, simply by going off how Sherlock usually acted and his confession during the wedding that he simply didn’t have friends in his youth. Both Sherlock and Thomas had watched the reaction of all three whilst sharing an a look of amusement by their reactions and facial expressions: Mary and Mrs.Hudson had large grins on their faces and John had adopted his thinking face, furrowed brows and a look of slight confusion as he thought. Thomas brought them all out their thoughts as he continued speaking, while still watching the Watsons and Mrs.Hudson in the corner of his eye;

“Actually, I wanted you to meet someone.” Thomas said this while never breaking eye contact with Sherlock, and as far as Mrs Hudson and the Watson’s could see, was almost challenging Sherlock and expected for Sherlock to refuse and claim that it would be “Boring” or “Dull”. Sherlock considered saying no, but from the smile on Thomas’ face, which had turned into more of a smirk became intrigued by what Thomas had in store for him. Sherlock replied with a quick “Alright.” And stood, straightened his blazer before striding over to the coat rack and began putting on his coat and scarf with his usual flourish, before looking at John and Mary impatiently waiting for them to follow his lead. As Sherlock had stood, Thomas had walked into the kitchen to grab his coat and gloves before standing with Sherlock. Mary was the first to process Sherlock’s easy acceptance of being told what to do without so much as a small protest before standing and holding Catherine, and was shifting her in her arms when Thomas spoke, startling both Watsons and Mrs.Hudson who had advocated to watching the scene unfold and planned on cleaning the flat while they were away.

“It would be best if you left your daughter with Mrs.Hudson, it’s rather cold outside and it wouldn’t do if she caught a cold, she did just recover from one a few days ago, and could cause a disruption to her mental and physical development. Then again, Mary would rather stay seeing as she’s been watching your daughter as she fights off colic.” John who had noticed his wife’s movement had stood up with her and both husband and wife shared a look of surprise, before turning to Mrs.Hudson who readily accepted the task of babysitting, despite John and Mary’s apologies about it being such late notice (mainly John’s) and Mary’s assurances that she would in fact be fine resting at the flat.  During this, Sherlock had been sighing and huffing quietly at how slow everyone was being. Sherlock turned to Thomas and asked “Taxi or will you be calling a car to drive us there?”

Thomas smirked slightly at the question, amused by Sherlock’s impatience and waited a few moments purely to irritate Sherlock even further before replying. “The car is already at the front of the house, I texted Harry few moments ago.” Thomas then turned to walk down the stairs with Sherlock following calling for John to hurry up.

By the time John walked out the door, after saying his goodbyes to a sleeping Catherine, his tired wife and Mrs.Hudson, Sherlock and Thomas were waiting in a sleek black car, similar to the ones Mycroft used to drive people to his “meetings”. After he sat in the car, Thomas, making a show of being a gentleman, waited until John was comfortable before saying to the driver to “Take us home”.

~Slight time skip~

“So you’re like Sherlock.” John stated, looking closely at the man sitting across from him, his grey eyes meeting Thomas’ brown eyes before looking away. Thomas and Sherlock smirked at this, Sherlock leaning back into his seat, watching the way the two interacted with one another.  Thomas considered this statement before replying, speaking slowly gauging the reactions of both Sherlock and John. “Hmm, like Sherlock? Ah, you mean with the ability to deduce people. Yes, in a way I am, but I know someone whose deduction skills are even better than mine.”

At this Sherlock looked closer at Thomas knowing that it wasn’t himself that Thomas was referring to, causing his brows to knit together wondering who Thomas was referring to. Sherlock was ready to scoff in disbelief, Thomas’ skills were good, not as good as his, but better than most and certainly didn’t know Mycroft, nor did he have any affiliation with Moriarty, so the question was who was Thomas talking about?

John was confused. ‘ _Is he talking about Sherlock? But he already knows Sherlock, and he wants Sherlock to meet someone…..It can’t be Mycroft….could it? Moriarty? Sherlock was pointing a gun at him, but he also said he was his friend. And he didn’t insult him as he said it……’_ John screwed up his face as he thought staring at his lap deep in thought before looking at Sherlock. _He can deduce as well as Sherlock can, does he know someone even better than Sherlock?_

Whilst the two were deep in thought Thomas watched on, chuckling quietly, his deep voice making a rumbling sound as he did so, before looking out of the tinted windows. Seeing that they had arrived at house, he reached for the car door handle opening the door just as the car came to a stop and stepped outside and stepped away from the car, allowing Sherlock and John to exit the vehicle. As Sherlock got out of the car, he immediately began to scan his surroundings, a large estate surrounded by trees in the richer parts of London. The house three stories high and was roughly built during the Victorian era, with gravel leading up to the porch and front door and the garage. The grounds, as far as he could tell, was akin to those seen in movies, pristine, with chrysanthemum blossoms and peony’s and other flowers blooming, all neatly trimmed. However on closer inspection Sherlock could tell that the Gravel in some areas had been disturbed and knocked onto the grass, leading to large footprints on the dewy grass leading up to the house. ‘ _Intruders.’_ As Sherlock made his deductions, he had begun walking to the front door, following the footprints on the disturbed grass. When Sherlock approached the front door, the varnish of the wooden door had been chipped and scraped around the handle, indicating that someone had picked the lock and sure enough, when he pushed the door, it opened; leading the trio into the hallway. Sherlock scanned the hallway looking at the walls, behind the front door and the polished wood on the floor, seeing faint wet foot prints. ‘ _5 intruders, men. Trained.’_ Sherlock continued following the footprints, paying no heed to John’s concerned questions and an amused Thomas who was trailing after the two of them.

Thomas had noticed seemed amused rather than concerned by Sherlock’s actions and had even taken the tie to hang up his coat and wipe his shoes on the doormat. His calm demeanour caused John to be a little less worried about Sherlock’s focus on the floor, but was concerned by what this could mean. Mainly due to the fact that whenever Sherlock became completely focused on something, it generally led to trouble of some kind. This was held true when Sherlock led them to staircase with five unconscious men at the bottom. These five men were in gear similar to those for the riot police and were armed and had bits of a broken ceramic littered around them. Seeing this, John began to inch closer to the unconscious men, his eyes wide as he stood a little straighter looker around the room checking to see if there was any more of these men until Sherlock’s hand grabbed his shoulder stopping him.

Sherlock was looking closer at the men.’ _Agents, American. Trained, special forces. Height from 5 ft 8 to 6 ft. Age range 30’s. Tea Set.’_ Sherlock crouched, trying to get a closer look of the unconscious agents, curious to know _how_ American agents with Special Forces training, who were wearing bullet proof vests and helmets were knocked unconscious by a tea set. Upon closer inspection, Sherlock saw faint bruises that were beginning to blossom on the cheek of one Agent whose head were on the first step of the stairs. ‘ _Riding Crop’_ Sherlock’s musings were interrupted by the sound of a piano being played and immediately stood before sharing a look of confusion with John before turning to Thomas who had been stood with his back against the wall and seemed unaffected by the sight of a break in and only smiled in response to the questioning looks of both men. He pushed himself off the wall and beckoned both men to follow him as he calmly stepped over the agents on the floor acting as though they weren’t even there and walked up the stairs, with Sherlock and John in tow. The three men followed the sound of the piano up the stairs and to the east wing of the house with Thomas leading the way, until they reached a room with a heavy door wide open revealing a large room with multiple instrument cases and music sheets around in an organised mess in the room In the corner facing the windows was a black baby piano with what appeared to Sherlock and John a young woman or teenager playing the piano. Sherlock recognised the piano piece to be Chopin’s Nocturne op 20 in C Sharpe minor and whoever the girl was; they were playing it perfectly without mistake. The meter was a little faster than it should have been, but seemed to suit the song well.

The piano player didn’t even acknowledge the three men until the very last note had been played, before their shoulders, which had previously tensed, had relaxed slightly and only turned around when someone began to slowly clap their hands in applause. Sherlock, John and Thomas, who had all been stood by the doorway seemed to come out of the trance the music had induced and turned to their left to find Mycroft Holmes sitting on a plush sofa applauding slowly. Sherlock’s eyes widened with surprise at the sight of his brother and looked towards Thomas, feeling a surge of anger at Thomas for lying to him until he saw the same look of surprise on Thomas’ face. While Sherlock and Thomas were quiet with their surprise John was much more vocal with his.

“Mycroft? What are you doing here? How did you know we were coming here?” John spluttered looking from Sherlock and Thomas to a smiling Mycroft. Mycroft was more than happy with the look of surprise on his brother’s face and was content with lounging on the sofa before replying.

“I was invited.” Mycroft said rather haughtily with a hint of smug satisfaction before meeting Sherlock’s now angry stare.  John and Thomas both watched silently as the two brothers seemed to have a mini World War 3 with just their eyes and began to inch backwards slowly worried that Sherlock may actually attack his brother.

“Brother, you’ve returned.” At the sound of these words spoken in such a soft voice all four men turned to the young woman sat facing them a slight smile on her doll like features. During the surprise and slight shock of seeing Mycroft, they had all forgotten the woman until she decided to end the childish stare off between Mycroft and Sherlock.

Sherlock looked intently at the young woman sitting across the room from him, his eyes staring first at her face and then the rest of her body, trying to deduce her, but was shocked at the realisation that he couldn’t deduce anything from her, other than the obvious facts that anyone could see. Sherlock looked from the corner of his eye to Thomas to see what he could deduce: ’ _31 years old, workaholic, went for a run, hates people in general, has a phobia of spiders.’_ His eyes then returned to the young woman who was watching them for their reactions, her eyes showed intelligence and methodically scanned over John before turning her gaze to Sherlock. At this, Sherlock met her gaze and saw that she seemed to be challenging him, narrowing his eyes at this; he looked harder at the girl in front of him. Large dark green eyes that were slightly slanted in a way that reminded Sherlock of cat’s eyes were framed by thick, long black eyelashes. She had a small button nose and full cupid bow lips that were the colour of raspberries.  These features sat on a pale heart shaped face that was framed by midnight black bangs. Her hair was in an intricate bun held together by a jade hairpin. As for the rest of her body, she was rather short and was rather slim; a better way to describe her was petite; her dress sense was doll like, with a dark green, long sleeved baby doll dress that fell to her knees. Her legs were covered by sheer stockings and black ankle boots with a two inch heel. Sherlock was frustrated and intrigued by this and began to glare at the woman opposite him, who had cocked her head to the side, seemingly scrutinising him for a moment, her intense gaze unwavering against his glare until she turned her head to look towards Mycroft and John. Sherlock felt his hackles rise at this, this dismissal from a mere slip of a girl; he refused to call her a woman from the way she dressed.

This intense staring contest, which was all John, could see from the way the woman and Sherlock had been looking at each other, which had only lasted for around three seconds had not been missed by any of the other occupants of the room and John was beginning to wonder if this woman, who he had at first mistaken for a teenager, mainly due to her height and the fact that she looked so young, but the way she held herself, even when she was sitting down had the same proud and self-confident air that Sherlock, Mycroft and Thomas’ had. Her gaze was so intense that for the half a second that she had looked at him, made him feel similar to the way he did whenever Sherlock or Mycroft deduced him. From this alone, John was sure that this was the one Thomas had brought them to meet and John couldn’t help but wonder, just how good this girl was; that and who had been the one to take down all five of the agents because he couldn’t imagine Mycroft to be able to punch a person let alone fight off five trained agents with what appeared to be a tea set.

“Obviously, Arianna, I would like you to meet Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson. Sherlock, John, as you can tell this is my dearest little sister Arianna Daratrazanoff Knight.” Thomas spoke with pure adoration in his voice, a wide smile plastered on his face, as he stepped closer to his sister, prompting her to stand and walk closer to the consulting detective and his blogger. In response to the introduction she stopped a few feet away from the duo and bowed her head slightly in greeting, the action causing Sherlock’s brows to furrow even further his face appearing to be set in the one expression, while John was mildly surprised by how regal she appeared as she slowly bobbed her head.

“It’s nice to meet to meet you Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson. Thomas, I would like to introduce you to my friend Mycroft Holmes.” Came her quiet reply as she turned her body slightly, indicating to Mycroft with her hand, which Sherlock noticed was covered by black cotton gloves.

“Oh, so you’re the older Holmes! To be honest I’ve only really heard of you, not from Arianna here, but from others and I was wondering when I would have the pleasure of meeting you. How long have you known my sister?” Despite Thomas’ smile, and friendly tone, his eyes became narrowed as he scanned the older male, gripping Mycroft’s hand a little tighter than was necessary as a warning; his gaze was hostile as he greeted his sister’s _friend_.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance Thomas, unfortunately I had no idea Arianna even had a brother in all my 4 years of knowing her, I have however heard of you from her.” Mycroft’s reply was friendly on the surface, however under the thin veneer of pleasant replies he deduced the younger male, sizing up Arianna’s brother. He hadn’t been lying when he said that Arianna never spoke about her family, but they had spoken about a Thomas every so often for Mycroft to know that he was a part of her life but not enough for Mycroft to feel like it was necessary for him to find out who this Thomas was. Such was the same for Thomas, his sister had never even mentioned a Mycroft, she did speak of a person named “Croft” who he had assumed was a female until now and felt his hackles rise as his instinct to protect his younger sister from this older male, older being the operative word seeing as Mycroft appeared to be at least 40 years old and Arianna was barely 21. Thomas felt betrayed as his sister had failed to mention her friendship with a person that had lasted for 4 years, however a small voice in the back of his mind disagreed with such thoughts, after all he was just her brother and Arianna had the right to be friends with anyone she liked. He would have been a little happier had she befriended someone who wasn’t the British Government.

“I think we should move down stairs to continue this conversation.” Arianna’s statement ended the scrutiny that both Thomas and Mycroft were inflicting upon each other, as she began to walk forwards towards the door way with all four men following behind her, with Mycroft following closely behind her, much to Thomas’ chagrin. Thomas wanted to pull Mycroft away from his sister, but seeing as she introduced Mycroft as a friend and not a colleague, Thomas resisted this urge as he didn’t want to be the cause of her ire. Mycroft noticed Thomas’ scowl from the corner of his eye and turned his torso slightly to smile smugly at him. Sherlock and John shared a look at the way Mycroft and Thomas were acting, even more questions about who Arianna was and what her connection was to Mycroft.

As they began their descent down the stairs John opened his mouth, unsure how to approach the subject of the bodies of the unconscious agents. “Um, Miss Dara-”

“Just call me Arianna.”

“Okay, um, you’ve got some er men on the floor-” John verbally stumbled, he hadn’t been expecting her interruption, and he knew that Sherlock wasn’t going to be the one ask, if the slight glare Sherlock had directed at her petite form that was briskly walking down the stairs was anything to go by.

“Ah, yes them, I hope you don’t mind, I didn’t have time to dispose of them. Although, they could have done a better job in trying to stealth their way into our home. I do apologise about the mess, thankfully it was my least favourite tea set.” Arianna said rather blithely as she hopped over the agents and led the men to a parlour room. John’s mouth fell open in shock and surprise that the young girl, because John wouldn’t believe that she was a day over 17, was the one to take down five older, stronger armed agents, and was more concerned over the mess and the tea set she used. Sherlock’s surprise was much more discreet with the only physical signs of surprise being his eyes widening slightly before narrowing again. His eyes bore into her smaller form, he was determined to find out more about this “Arianna” knowledge was power and he hated not knowing or being able to deduce a person. 

Arianna walked towards the coffee table bent over and picked up a silver tray, stood and inclined her head slightly to the sofa closest to the coffee table indicating that they should sit. Mycroft, who had been anticipating this movement sat down, lounging casually on the sofa, completely at ease. Thomas frowned slightly at how in tune Mycroft was to his sister and sat in the armchair closest to the door, which was diagonal to the coffee table. Sherlock and John followed Mycroft’s example and sat on the sofa, John opting to sit in between the Holmes brothers in order to prevent any impending argument. As John sat down he noticed Sherlock was staring intently at the coffee table with an odd expression on his face. From the cheekbones and down to his mouth, Sherlock had his signature smirk from a correct deduction. However from the cheekbones to his eyebrows, Sherlock’s eyes seemed to be glaring at the table and his eyebrows were furrowed together in the same way they normally do when he frowns. John was curious to know how a coffee table had caused such an odd expression to bloom on the usually emotionless consultant detective. John turned his gaze to the coffee table surprised to find a riding crop in the middle of the table. John cleared his throat, unsure how to tell Thomas or to ask Thomas why the hell there was a riding crop in a parlour room. Thomas was the one to solve John’s slight discomfort.

“Anna, I believe you forgot something” Thomas spoke with a smirk on his face, as he nodded head in the direction of the riding crop just as Arianna was about to step out of the room.  Arianna turned on her heels, looking at the table before shifting her gaze to her brother.

“Hmm, I believe I haven’t.”

With that she left the room, leaving the door open. This left all four men to sit in awkward silence as John shifted uncomfortably in his seat and decided to look around the room, trying to think of something to say knowing that Mycroft wasn’t going to speak and Sherlock was never going to start a conversation with Mycroft unless absolutely necessary. Whilst Sherlock’s expression was just…..odd, Mycroft’s was one of amusement, his body language rather open and relaxed, this was the most relaxed that John had ever seen Mycroft, something which Sherlock had definitely noticed. This relaxed posture would periodically change to a much tenser one, as Thomas was staring straight at Mycroft challenging him. The awkward silence became a tense one as Sherlock and John watched the staring contest, both wondering who would be the first to look away. The silence was broken when they heard a cry of pain that distinctly sounded male along with a loud clanging sound, like metal hitting a hard surface. Sherlock and John both jumped up at this, well John jumped up, Sherlock would rather say that he pushed himself up off the sofa, and started towards the door until they saw Arianna enter the room with a tea set and on a silver tray which Mycroft, Sherlock and Thomas saw a small amount of blood on the bottom, yet on further inspection Arianna was immaculate as when she left the room.

“I hope you like earl grey tea. Sorry about the commotion in the kitchen.” Arianna said softly as she placed the tray on the coffee table and poured tea for everyone, not even needing to ask how Sherlock or John preferred their tea.

“Er…..what happened? It sounded like a person shouting…..” John asked quietly staring at his tea. He looked up waiting for a reply, only to look down again when he met her intense gaze. John shifted slightly when Arianna leaned over slightly, picked up the riding crop and her tea and sat in another armchair that was placed diagonally to the Holmes brothers and John.

“I…………had an unexpected visitor.” Arianna’s reply was accompanied with a small smile as she sipped her tea as she balanced the riding crop on her lap. John and Sherlock waited for a further explanation as to who this “visitor” was, but was met with silence.

“I have notified someone to clean up the mess on the stairs and in the kitchen.” Mycroft said as he smiled at Arianna, which caused the consulting detective and his blogger to look at him, dumbstruck by the sight of Mycroft actually smiling at someone, not sneering, but smiling without any malicious intent!

“Ah, thank you. It wasn’t really necessary though, the agent in the kitchen has already called their handler, I believe. Some American Agency will rendezvous with them somewhere away from here. I would appreciate it if you would remove them from the house.” Arianna spoke with a fond smile for Mycroft but Sherlock, nor could Thomas see any deeper than her apparent fondness for Mycroft. Mycroft in turn inclined his head slightly indicating that it would be done. “So, Thomas, there is a reason for you to bring your old University friend to meet me otherwise you wouldn’t come at all, so what would you gain from my meeting with Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, other than your amusement?”  This was said in a soft enquiring tone, similar to a child’s but Sherlock saw a glint of something in the her eyes, a certain sharp challenge in her gaze.

“Yes well, I just thought that it would be interesting for the two of you to meet. I mean you were going to cross paths eventually and why put off the meeting, which I know would be in a much more dire circumstance should you have met while you were working Anna.” Thomas said this with a nervous smile, squirming slightly under the sharp gaze of his younger sister.

Silence fell over the five adults as Arianna made no reply and John was surprised to find that Sherlock hadn’t spoken a word to the girl Thomas had wanted them to meet. After ten minutes of this awkward silence, Arianna put her cup down on the coffee table and stretched slightly.

“Well, this has been an _interesting_ meeting, but I have to go to court. I trust Thomas will….entertain you and then escort you out. Mycroft I believe you have a meeting with some Ministers today.” Arianna spoke quickly, “Good day.” She bowed her head once again and spun on her heels and left the room with Mycroft walking after her after saying his good byes.

Thomas clapped his hands together and smiled brightly “I think that went well. So, what do you think?”

 

* * *

 


	3. Infallible

Sherlock scowled and sunk further into his seat refusing to say anything in response, John was curious to know what caused Sherlock to seem to hate Arianna after only just meeting her. To John she seemed quiet, a talented musician if the piano piece she played was anything to go by, but she seemed so much like Sherlock, her gaze was so intense, not in a way that would make a person feel uncomfortable; it was more like she could see into a person’s soul if she looked long enough.

Thomas’ smile widened; “You can’t deduce her, can you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock turned his head so quickly John thought he was going to get whiplash and glared darkly at Thomas’ direction.

“You didn’t blurt out your deductions like you normally do, and you kept glaring at her, trying so hard to read more than the surface layer of what she allowed you to see. Welcome to my world.” Thomas’ smile was alight with mischief as he spoke, his eyes glinting with glee. Sherlock screwed his face in indignation, took a deep breath, sighed and stood.

“I think it’s time we leave. Come along John.” Sherlock spoke monotonously walking out of the room not even waiting for John. On the outside Sherlock seemed calm and collected, well he hoped he did, but on the inside his mind was racing remembering every detail of ‘Arianna Daratrazanoff Knight’ desperately trying to find some kind of information other than her ethnicity. Through his frustration at not deducing anything other than the bare facts Sherlock began to huff in disbelief that that slip of a girl who he couldn’t even deduce the age of, something he regarded in disgust, would be able to have deduction skills that could be on the same level as his, let alone rival Mycroft’s. Sherlock was intrigued by the _friendship_ between his brother and Arianna as Mycroft didn’t have friends, he considered everyone else to be goldfish. This led to frustrate Sherlock even more because he hated not knowing, and he hated the fact that he was intrigued by this girl, who at this point he wanted nothing to do with. Sherlock was stood by the front door as he thought of all this and he barely registered the sounds of John and Thomas talking as they walked at a much slower pace.

“You can’t deduce your younger sister?” John was curious at this fact because even the Holmes brothers could deduce one another and pretty much everyone else around them, but for Thomas, who claimed and seemed, so far anyway, to be able to deduce people as well as Sherlock. Just how good was Arianna? For God’s sake, she was able to make _Mycroft_ smile and it wasn’t due to her possible stupidity either.

“I can…sometimes. Like I said Arianna will let people deduce what she wants them to. She doesn’t like it when people pry into her personal life. She’s a private person Doctor Watson, but she seems to like you both.” Thomas spoke slowly, weighing his words as he spoke. He smirked as he was Sherlock’s frustration at his internal thoughts and shook his head slightly. _Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea._

John was surprised by Thomas’ words. From what he could tell, Arianna didn’t seem to acknowledge their existence until she was leaving, and even then she seemed to be avoiding them. “Really?”

“Yes, she told me.” At this John seemed even more confused; Arianna didn’t say much and what she did say were rather….enigmatic. Seeing this, Thomas elaborated; “Anna and I can read each other’s micro expressions. It’s a much faster way to communicate and it’s a good way to improve our deduction skills. I believe she was using this method to speak to Mycroft as well. It’s the best way to have a private conversation.” Thomas said this as he put on his coat and gloves and unlocked the door. “I’ll have the driver take us back to Baker Street. I’ve got something to show you.”

~Mini time skip~

After the quiet and awkward car ride back to Baker Street, John had become worried about Sherlock’s silence. Silence and Sherlock never went well together.

“That was tedious.” Sherlock grumbled as he flopped into his chair, he was still feeling frustration over his lack of information about Arianna and anger at Thomas for causing his frustration. John followed, and sat on the sofa after checking his phone to text Mary, concern over his friends silence and aura of anger that was surrounding Sherlock.

“Oh I wouldn’t say that.” Thomas said, amused at Sherlock’s childish actions and stood by the door. “I for one thought it to be….an enlightening visit.” Thomas’ ever present smirk widened into a smile as Sherlock glared in his direction.

“Yes, an enlightening visit to a 5 ft woman child who knows Mycroft and is targeted by American Agents who barely speaks and dresses like a doll!” Sherlock scoffed and turned resolutely way from Thomas.

“Ah so you _are_ interested in Arianna. That’s good, now I know the visit wasn’t a complete and total waste of your time.” Thomas’ words barely contained his mirth and John wondered if Thomas was taunting Sherlock, but it seemed more like childish taunts rather than a more aggressive one which John had become accustomed to hearing directed towards Sherlock.

“ _Interested?!_ You think I’m interested in someone who shows no deduction skills what so ever-”

“That is exactly why you _are_ interested in my sister. I told you that I believe my sister’s deductive capability to be greater than mine, which is true. That is what I believe. The fact that she is able to hold a stable relationship with Mycroft Holmes for fair few years is a commendation to that. The fact that you were then met with someone who you _cannot_ deduce and who doesn’t even show any indication of being able to deduce frustrates you because you _are_ intrigued by her but you hate not knowing. And while I would enjoy an argument with you ‘Shezza’, I would like to show you just _how_ good my sister is.” Thomas interrupted Sherlock’s rant and turned on the laptop that he had been carrying and plugged the laptop into their T.V, ignoring Sherlock’s angry huff and John’s shock at how easily Thomas was able to stop Sherlock’s argument, that and the fact that Thomas knew Sherlock’s druggie nickname. John sat watching Thomas type away at something as he put two and two together.

“You two used to-” John spluttered at his realisation as Sherlock cut him off.

“Yes Thomas and I were university together and were drug buddies.” Sherlock’s tone was curt and held no room for John to continue this particular conversation. A few seconds later Thomas let out a cry of success.

“Here you go, live entertainment, enjoy.” Thomas smirked smugly and simply sat back to watch his sister and the detective and blogger’s reaction.

(In Court)

Arianna was sat in the witness stand and made an oath to tell the truth. The defending barrister, Eileen Robinson, for the case fidgeted nervously as they gathered their papers. She cleared her throat before beginning:

“Your name is Arianna Daratrazanoff Knight, yes?” The barrister spoke clearly but there was a slight quiver of nervousness in her tone, belying her anxiety and fear of losing this case, she knew that Arianna was her only hope in winning.

“Yes, it is.” Arianna, unlike the defence barrister was completely calm, and sure of herself, which was shown how she met the gaze of each juror for the case and the eye of the prosecution, Andrew Thompson, as well as the reporters for the case.

“And all of the details that you have provided are correct?”

“Yes.” Arianna seemed rather bored with the questions she was being asked and sighed softly at how slowly Miss Robinson, who she noted was engaged and was coming close the date of the wedding, late nights of wedding planning (most likely due to the money the wedding planner she had hired was making her pay), recent intense workouts to fit in her wedding dress and the anxiety of taking on this case- causing even more sleepless nights on a dead end case until she had contacted Eileen. Oh, she was also pregnant and didn’t know it.

“Please tell the court your current occupation and your credentials Miss Daratazanov Knight.”

Arianna sighed before speaking: “I have a degree in Law which I achieved at the age of 14, and I have studied medicine, specialising in psychiatry and achieved my medical licence at the age of 18 before studying Psychology which I achieved my degree in at the age of 19. In each of my degrees I achieved a first honours. During my time at university I dabbled in science and forensic pathology. I have a doctorate in medicine and I now work as a consultant and a psychiatrist.”

The Jury, along with the rest of the court room were in awe at her accomplishments at such a young age, this calmed Eileen and gave her a confidence boost whereas Arianna remained emotionless and began drumming her fingers on her lap.

“Miss Daratrazanoff Knight, could you please tell the court why you are here?”

“Yesterday on the 7th of July, I read in the newspaper about this upcoming case, and from the photograph included in the article of Mr Taylor. From this I knew that Mr. Taylor was falsely accused of murder.”

“Miss Daratrazanoff Knight, you have never met Mr. Stanley Taylor, or myself before, have you?”

“No I have not.”

“Could you please demonstrate how you knew that Mr. Taylor was in fact not guilty?”

The corners of Arianna’s full lips curled upwards slightly as she turned to the Judge. “Your Honour, may I…” She asked gesturing with a gloved hand to the rest of the court.

“You may.” The Judge spoke with a hint of anticipation, smiling slightly in excitement.

“Thank you.” Arianna stood and walked down the small steps of the witness stand before turning to Mr. Taylor, indicating for him to stand in the middle of the open area in front of the Judge. Once Mr Taylor stood in the middle of the court his head bowed slightly resolutely looking down on at the floor, refusing to so much as look at Arianna and the Jury. “Mr. Taylor’s stance is similar to the one in the newspapers and the ones in your case files, Mr. Taylor’s stance is passive, and he stands trying to make himself look smaller, therefore trying to prevent us from seeing paying attention to him. In addition to this he tries to hide the facial scars on the left side of his face and the ones on his right arm. The slight dips in Mr. Taylor’s forearms indicate that both of his wrists have been broken before, therefore causing him to be ambidextrous, not only this but his missing teeth were due to him being punched in the face. The fact that he can barely look at Miss Robinson or myself, let alone the Jurors and the rest of the court shows that Mr. Taylor is a loner and  has social anxiety most likely stemming from the physical, mental and sexual abuse his own mother inflicted upon him as a child.” At this Mr. Taylor looked up sharply in her direction, fear evident in his features.

 “This has also led to Mr. Taylor to have undiagnosed depression and anxiety which is evidenced by the cuts on both wrists, something he should have gone to a doctor for help, but due to his depression and fear of women due to the abuse inflicted by his mother, he fears interacting with others. He knows that his height and large build along with his scars and missing teeth would cause people to immediately suspect him, so he didn’t try to dissuade any accusations against him because he fears people’s judgement. He was easily suspected to be the killer due the similarities between the two, height, hair colour described by a witness, build and working hours, however this doesn’t take into account the fact that Mr. Taylor works as a truck driver specifically working at night for long deliveries in order to prevent contact with other people and especially women. Mr. Taylor would have the right motive to kill the women, however due to his crippling fear of women, and his depression and social anxiety and pacifist nature because of his abuse, Mr Taylor would not even lay a finger on anyone, especially women.”

With this Arianna turned and walked back to the witness stand as Mr. Taylor scurried back to his seat trying hard not to hyperventilate at all his insecurities being told to complete strangers. The Jury seemed to be in shock at the fast paced analysis Arianna made.

“No more questions your Honour.” Eileen said smugly casting a grin at Mr Thompson who locked his jaw slightly, thinking quickly how to make the Jury think that Arianna was a liar. Mr Thompson sat in his for a moment before standing and placing a fake smile on his face.

“Miss Daratrazanoff Knight, do you know who Sherlock Holmes, the Consulting Detective is?”

“I have heard of him, yes.”

“And have you ever met him?”

“Briefly.” Arianna spoke curtly, her eyes narrowing slightly, knowing what he was going to say.

“Then you must certainly know of this trick he does -”

“It’s not a trick, its science, Mr Thompson.” Arianna smiled coldly at Mr. Thompson‘s glare, noting his tense posture.

“Heh, yes. Well then you should know that Mr Holmes s never wrong and the fact that he _deduced_ that - ” Mr Thompsons glare morphed into a sneer until Arianna sudden interruption.

“Don’t try to discredit me Mr Thompson, it’ll make you look even more like an idiot than you already are. Deduction _is_ a science I used it on Mr Taylor and Miss Robinson and I can “deduce” that you are only a barrister because it’s the job your father has, you were trying to gain his approval due to him favouring your younger brother who works as a civil servant, most likely as a minister of some kind. You tried to endear yourself to your mother who holds all the money in your family, so your inheritance will come from her; however she prefers your older sister who married a rich business man. You tried to endear yourself to your mother by marrying a young woman that your mother approved and is fond of. You want a sizeable amount in your parents will and since your siblings have no children, a child from your young wife will certainly gain a lot of favour from mummy. However the fact is your wife doesn’t even like you very much, in fact she’s having an affair with another barrister, someone she’s had her eye on for a while.”

“I know that the Detective Inspector for this particular case is distracted because his recent divorce from his wife who was regularly having affairs with other men, causing him to have insomnia, therefore disrupting his concentration in general life, along with his work. The Sergeant is jealous of anyone she is on the same intelligence as, cannot understand or doesn’t show any signs of being attracted to her. In addition to this, her ‘boyfriends’ are actually married and spends her nights waiting for them to call. The one on forensics is practically begging for some kind of praise from the consulting detective and always tries to impress him because he idolises Sherlock Holmes. Mr Holmes is a self-diagnosed high functioning sociopath. And his blogger is a war veteran who is recovering from Post-Traumatic Stress disorder, something people have said he doesn’t have, and hasn’t been sleeping properly due to his baby daughter suffering from colic. Deduction is not a trick Mr Thompson. Oh, and by the way, the killer is a female who hunts for her victims at 3 in the morning. No one in this world is completely infallible.”

With this Arianna leaned back and watched the reaction of the court; the jury and the reporters were in shock as was the Judge. Eileen seemed to be in nervous anticipation while the colour drained from Mr Thompson’s face. After 10 minutes Mr Thompson seemed to recover from his shock only to mumble a quiet “No further questions.”

Arianna was then dismissed form the witness stand and the jurors left to make their decision.  Half an hour later, the jury gave their decision and found Mr Stanley Taylor not guilty.

(Back in Baker Street)

“WHAT!!!” Sherlock roared his disbelief at being called wrong as John sat in silent shock.  Sherlock’s mind raced furiously over the evidence, everything pointed to Stanley Taylor and began to hate Arianna Daratrazanoff Knight even more, he refused to admit his ‘interest’ in her. Sherlock propelled himself from his seat and stalk out of the flat to find and confront her until he saw Thomas’ shit eating grin. His entire expression said “I told you so~” and he hated it. Normally he would have said something to bring Thomas down a peg or ten but his anger was focused solely on Arianna. Just as he opened the door he saw Mycroft standing with his eyebrow raised at his anger.  Unwilling to show his anger in front of Mycroft he took a deep breath to calm himself. It worked…..a little. It was then that Sherlock realised that it would be the perfect opportunity to gather more information on Arianna, and then he could attack, er talk to her.

“Two visits in one day, this isn’t going to be a regular thing now is it?” Sherlock asked rudely stepping away from the door and flopping in his seat, glaring at the television that Thomas had now disconnected from his laptop.

“I can assure you that it isn’t.” Mycroft sneered at Sherlock looking over him and then John before casting a cursory glance at Thomas. “Arianna isn’t pleased with you snooping in her activities Mr Knight. I merely came to warn you Sherlock, especially since you have seen the court case, to stay away from Arianna Daratrazanoff Knight.” Mycroft looked sternly at Sherlock and Thomas, his gaze threatening. Thomas looked indignant at being told off by a practical stranger to him about his own sister. What Arianna got up to, as her elder brother, was his business! Thomas, instead of shouting at Mycroft, something he really wanted to do; settled for glaring at Mycroft and imagining him being set aflame. Sherlock tensed at the order and narrowed his eyes at Mycroft. Sherlock was not going to let Mycroft stop him from investigating Arianna.

“And why should I do that?” Sherlock stood up to square up against his brother unwilling to let his brother control him. Mycroft, in turn stood a little straighter looking directly into Sherlock’s eyes.

“This is an _order_ Sherlock. Stay away from Arianna Daratrazanoff Knight.” Mycroft spoke coldly his tone threatening; his eyes darkened as he entire being seemed much more menacing in the dark flat. Instead of verbally responding Sherlock’s glare intensified, he was not going to back down from Mycroft who then turned and walked out of the flat.

John looked at his lap awkwardly as Sherlock stood in the same spot fuming and Thomas seemed to be slowly calming down from his previous anger towards Mycroft and was more intent on watching Sherlock’s stiff stance still facing the door of the flat. John and Thomas’ eyes met and shared the same look of concern at Sherlock’s unmoving form. Just as John was about to ask if Sherlock was okay Sherlock turned, stomped into his room and slammed the door. John looked at Thomas who shrugged as if to say ‘eh, what can you do?’ Both knew it was better to leave Sherlock while he was like this.

“What was all that about?” John asked Thomas. John was still reeling from the court case and Mycroft’s sudden appearance.

“It’s probably Mycroft trying to protect either Anna or Sherlock. However the balance of probability is that Mycroft doesn’t want Sherlock and Arianna to get any closer to one another for the same reasons I wanted them both to meet.” Thomas said simply checking his phone. At this admission, John looked curiously at Thomas wanting to know Thomas’ motives. Since the beginning of this Thomas seemed to love every minute of Sherlock’s confusion and anger, and he wasn’t going to let Sherlock’s old drug buddy harm Sherlock.

“And why did you want them to meet? Nothing good seems to have come from this.” John spoke lowly, hinting at danger of him attacking Thomas if he had been planning some kind of devious plan.

“I wanted them to meet peacefully. I knew Anna was going to be going to court today and I knew that this is the most recent case Sherlock has had. I read your blog, Dr Watson, and I knew that Anna was going to help Stanley Thomas get off the murder charge; I live with her after all. It was going to lead to Sherlock trying to hunt her down anyway and cause all kinds of trouble. Therefore I wanted them both to meet and for Sherlock to be more interested in getting to know Anna, rather than trying to prove her wrong or beat her. They are so alike, in a way, even without this case, their paths would have crossed eventually and I’d rather they initially meet and possibly become allies rather than enemies.” Thomas explained all of this with a faraway expression on his face before looking down to his phone, frowning slightly. John was looking at the floor in front of him, deep in thought at what Thomas had said and only just registered Thomas leaving the flat. He considered going to Sherlock to see how he was but decided against it. It would be better to leave Sherlock to calm down on his own, however decided it would be best to go home and tell Mary what happened and brace himself for the field day the media were going to have over this case.

Sherlock sat in his room typing furiously on his laptop, he was determined to find all the information he could on Arianna Daratrazanoff Knight and to find the ‘real’ killer. In his head, all he could hear were her words “No one in this world is completely infallible.”

 

* * *

 


	4. Chapter 4

“GRRRRAAAAAAAAGGGHHHH!” Sherlock roared, leaping up from his previous position on his bed and paced furiously in a circle at the foot of his bed, his breathed heavily as he quelled his impulse to throw his laptop out of the window in frustration. It had been a day. An entire  _day_ ,  since he began his search about Arianna Daratazanoff Knight and had nothing to show for his efforts. He clenched and unclenched his hands as he concentrated on breathing, the corners of his mouth twitched in irritation, glaring at the pitiful result of his search on his laptop and started towards his bed but was interrupted by the trilling ringtone of his phone. Sherlock stomped over to the device, plucked it off from his bedside table and noticed it was the Home Secretary which made his current attitude lift ever so slightly as Sherlock expected a more promising result compared to what little information he had gained. However that slight fluttering hope was quickly shot down when he was told nothing that he didn’t already know, causing a scowl to form on Sherlock’s face and a loud sigh through his nose in frustration. He curtly ended the call and threw his phone next to his “useless” laptop on his bed.  
  
After a moment, Sherlock resumed his pacing and ran his long fingers through his curly, and now dishevelled hair, stopping for a second when the tips of his middle and index fingers met at the crown of his head and proceeded to ruffle his curly crown locks, letting go of his frustration and calming himself enough to think of the bigger picture and more important matters such as the “real” killer. Sherlock decided that to get a better, a much more accurate idea of Daratazanov Knight’s skill and abilities would be to find who she  _believed_  to be the “real” killer. That and examine her relationship with Mycroft. The fact that Mycroft seemed to have willingly gone to her home and spent time lounging comfortably in a room, in  _her presence_  already spoke volumes about their apparent closeness even without including Mycroft’s protectiveness of the tiny woman-child.  
  
Sherlock turned sharply in mid step towards his bedroom door and grabbed his signature coat and scarf and donned them both with a flourish, scooped his phone off his bed and briskly walked down the steps of 221B and slammed the front door, hailed a cab which seemed to magically appear out of thin air (making passers-by and children who were unused to seeing such things happen on a regular basis  believe that he had magically summoned the cab) all while sending a quick series of texts to John and ordering the cab to go to New Scotland Yard.  
  
~New Scotland Yard~  
Philip Anderson was shocked and baffled as he stared at all the evidence they (Sherlock) had gathered. He couldn’t understand how Stanley Taylor had been found not guilty when  _Sherlock_  had said otherwise. Anderson was still working through his shock at the news and was preparing himself to help Sherlock in any way he could. But as he stared at the evidence, he began to wonder about the surprise and last minute witness and scratched the back of his head in thought. Sherlock…couldn’t be wrong, could he? Anderson quickly shook his head in denial at the treacherous thought, no, Sherlock couldn’t be wrong, this was Sherlock after all! On the other hand even Sherlock had some cases that he couldn't solve, but that had been due to other circumstances, this time the killer isn't dead. Anderson began to sift through the evidence as he tried to push away his troubled thoughts until Sherlock stalked into the room demanding to know where Lestrade was.   
  
Sherlock didn’t pay any mind to the nameless and faceless (in his mind anyway) police officers as he walked purposely towards the evidence for the case, only just registering Anderson’s presence and asked for Lestrade’s location as his eyes roved the evidence that he had already memorized.  
  
Steepling his hands under his chin Sherlock entered his mind palace and got to work, removing Stanley Taylor from his simulated version of the events and began to shrink the field of possible suspects down to women who, at night under the dim light of a street lamp, would fit Stanley Taylor’s general description i.e tall, well-built women with short (shaved) sandy blond hair. The height and bulky build of the female would mean that she would, most likely, have a gym membership and/or exercise equipment at home. Preferred type of workout? Muscle and stamina building exercises.  
  
Reason behind her build? Possibly genetic however based on eye witness accounts the woman in question being mistaken for a man and CCTV images of their back, which looked distinctly male;  reason of their build would most likely to be due to an extended use of testosterone and steroids.  
  
Age? Based on their actions and the way they had physically treated their victims, mid-late twenties, possibly early thirties.  
  
Job? Would include working long, possibly odd hours in an isolated environment away from others.  
  
Meanwhile in reality (not inside Sherlock's head) Lestrade and Anderson were discussing the outcome of the trial as well as the lack of news coverage on the case, the media only seemed to know about the victims but not the outcome and Sherlock's "failure". They discussed this while glancing in Sherlock's direction speaking in hushed tones; careful of Sherlock's reaction to the mention of the surprise "witness" that John had specifically warned them to not speak about in Sherlock's presence, but since Sherlock was in his mind palace (which might as well have been considered a completely different country or world) they decided it was relatively safe for them to speak about such things. They both stopped speaking when they noticed Sherlock reaching into  his pocket to grab his phone and quickly fire off a few texts alerting his homeless network (and a few others) to look around the South Eastern region of London, near and including Bromley for a female who would fit Stanley Taylor's general description.  
  
Lestrade hesitated for a moment, unsure whether or not it would be safe to bring up the trial, but since John wasn't there to aid give him subtle cues as to whether or not the topic was off limits or not he decided to try to carefully broach the subject with the Consulting Detective. Sharing a brief glance with Anderson, Lestrade took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the conversation and (somehow) brought up the courage to discuss the one who denounced Sherlock's deduction. However just as he opened his mouth to ask Sherlock began to speak quickly about his new deductions and was about to stride out of the room barely leaving time for Anderson and Lestrade to actually process everything he had just said.  
  
"Hang on, wait. So she was right? The, uh, the witness?" Lestrade tentatively asked Sherlock, who paused for a moment and sighed through his nose at Lestrade, annoyed that he was just beating around the bush and being slow.  
  
"Yes."Sherlock muttered curtly. The word left an awful taste in his mouth as he remembered  _her_  testimony, gritting his teeth in frustration as questions began to form in his mind.  _How long had she known about this case? How long had she known who the "real" killer was? Why hadn't she simply told the authorities? It would be both logical and understandable if she came to the Police, offering her services._  Sherlock's frustration was beginning to show on his face, the corners of his full lips curling downwards morphing his face into a slight scowl as he glared at the space in front of him. Hearing Sherlock's response Lestrade and Anderson shared a look of concern at Sherlock's tone and both knew not to discuss the subject any further.  
  
(With Arianna)  
Unlike Sherlock who had spent 24 hours searching for information, Arianna had endured Thomas' eager questions on her opinion of Sherlock. Her reply was "I don't see why my opinion of him is so important Thomas considering that I do not plan to contact him in the immediate future, nor do I see any reason for me to give you some kind of approval in your choice of a friend unless you are asking for my opinion of him because you plan to make him your significant other." This was met with Thomas blushing, spluttering out his response that that was NOT his intention with wide eyes and needing a cup of chamomile tea.  
  
After Thomas had recovered from Arianna's well placed point Thomas began to question her relationship with Mycroft which, after a few minutes of asking a variety and different variations of "How and where did you meet?" and "What do you do when you spend time together?" Arianna sighed softly, gave Thomas a pointed look that he translated to being "I'm getting tired of this, shut up and leave me alone" as well as the cold shoulder, seemingly ignoring his presence completely before asking:  
  
"How long have you known that Stanley Taylor wasn't guilty?" His voice was full of curiosity but underneath that curiosity was concern which Arianna deduced was not for her, but more for the next potential victims of the killer.  
  
"Since Francesca Lloyd"  
  
At Arianna's quick reply Thomas began to rack his mind and remembered all the details: Francesca Abigail Lloyd aged 25, hair colour: dark brown, eye colour: blue, height: 5ft 6, occupation: shop assistant; was found beaten to death and raped in an alley in the early hours of the morning in an alley.   
  
"She was the second victim...wait you've known for months, Arianna why didn't you tell the Police? Why haven't you told Sherlock?" Thomas asked loudly. "People have died Arianna, and you could've stopped it!" Thomas was partially shocked at Arianna's admission.

  
"People have died, will die and in the future will die whether it be from being murdered, illness or old age." Arianna said calmly looking up at Thomas over the top of the book she was reading. "If I had gone to the police claiming to know who the killer is, do you think they would have believed me?"  
  
"Of course not they're idiots, I'm surprised that London hasn't already fallen." Thomas immediately replied before realising that he had answered his own question silently kicked himself for wasting what little time he had before Arianna would no doubt physically remove him from her quarters.   
  
"And Sherlock?"  
  
"He's the Consulting Detective and according to him, he is an expert in his field. Therefore he should have known who the killer is at least by the third or maybe fourth death. I have already told him that his original deduction was wrong, thus giving him a better understanding and more information about the killer in question. Not only this but Sherlock Holmes is meant to be a genius.  I'm not just going to give him the answer; he will never learn that way." Arianna explained as she looked back down at her book and thus ended the subject.  
  
Thomas sighed through his nose in exasperation at his younger sister's apathetic attitude towards Sherlock and the case. He leaned back into the leather sofa and watched his sister lazily read the novel she held, gently holding the delicate page between her index finger and thumb to soundlessly turn the page. After of few moments of sitting in silence Thomas looked up at the high ceiling as the pondered the identity of the killer, looking back down and rising silently to leave for his own rooms, deciding that he had tried Arianna's patience enough for one day.  
  
"Look deeper Thomas."  
  
Hearing his sister speak Thomas turned around, his brows furrowed in confusion at his sister's words.  
  
"Look deeper than the physical facts. What was the pattern that connected the women together? What made them the perfect victim for  _her_?"

 

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	5. Chapter 5

“Look deeper than the physical facts. What was the pattern that connected the women together? What made them the perfect victim for her?” Thomas repeated Arianna’s words over and over again, each time with increasing frustration. He hated how cryptic she could be at times. Thomas swore that had she been born in the 1850’s, she would have probably written Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Although, Thomas had to admit that if Arianna had written Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, it would have made much more sense and wouldn’t seem like the kind of adventure one has when taking LSD. After a few minutes thinking along this particular thought, Thomas groaned in frustration as he had distracted himself from solving the crime.

“Look deeper Thomas,” Thomas mimicked Arianna’s voice with an annoying whine, “Look deeper than the physical facts. Why is a Raven like a writing desk?”

“Yes Thomas, why is a Raven like a writing desk?”

Arianna’s sudden question made Thomas jump in fright before turning quickly to Arianna stood leaning in the doorway of his room, her face devoid of emotion, regarding him with a blank stare. Thomas opened and closed his mouth as he tried to think of an excuse to tell her without sounding like an idiot.

“Anna, I uh, I wasn’t-” Thomas stammered as one of Arianna’s eyebrows rose questioningly at Thomas’ weak and barely there excuse.

“Stop talking Thomas, you always have been a terrible liar.” Arianna spoke dismissively as she readjusted her black kid gloves, barely paying attention to her brother whose cheeks began to flush in embarrassment.

“Going to the office then?” Thomas asked, ignoring his slight blunder and taking in Arianna’s black and silver trimmed trench coat and dark brown leather messenger bag. Arianna tipped her head forward slightly, which Thomas took for a nonverbal confirmation, before spinning on her heels and leaving.

"Don't be out too late. Be safe." Thomas muttered quietly to himself.

 

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End file.
